


Words Written In Gasoline

by orphan_account



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Gay Parents, Genderfluid Character, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Parenthood, Piercings, Rock and Roll, Slow Build, Tattoos, Teacher Bilbo, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Modern- AU. Teacher, William Baggins travels to America, but in the steady line of papers and broken crayons he finds a young child with a well-guarded brilliance. Thorin Varland juggles the responsibilities of father, and tattoo artist quite well; yet his family still lingers in the stifling grasp of loss and clamours to the sanctity of kinship. Cultural differences clash and meld, and with an introduction to family life that is anything but conventional, William Baggins finds himself on the adventure of a lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Written In Gasoline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [underthemistymountain](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=underthemistymountain).



“Mr. Baggins, please hurry it up, the other parents are growing impatient.”

Glancing up from a stack of papers, full of heavily scribbled words, the man let a hefty sigh pour from his nostrils. It was true, there were a great deal of parents he had to speak with before he was to leave for the evening, but perhaps none more important than this meeting. William twirled the red pen posed between his fingers, allowing it to side over the back of his hand and back into the curl of his palm before beginning to tap against the worn grain of his desk, knocking his brass name plate with each tap. Resting beneath the nervous drone of the pen, was a small drawing, with heavy lines and vibrant colours-- hastily formed words; not at all the finest of his students’ work, but by far the most interesting. Fili Varland was a peculiar child, that is by William’s standards. The child, a modest age of nine dressed strangely and acted out in even stranger ways; ways that ever the teacher had yet to encounter. His hair was spiked, and it seemed like every other week it was tinted with yet another colour, a never ending cyclone of a painter’s palette steaping into the blond roots to match his spiralling personality: he was the embodiment of energy, but lost in the whirlwind was a cleverness, one that shone from the corners whilst he found better occupations for his mind.

The drawing was of he and his brother, matched side by side, adorned with leather jackets, spiked hair, and devilish grins. Those facts alone were not the focus of the picture, oh no, the scrappily drawn assignment had something of a far more worrisome nature; what seemed to be a animal (or human, Willian could not tell) horrid and disfigured, only labeled with a sloppy ‘ork’ and a crude arrow pointing to the poor fellow. However, this creature was not standing, he instead was laying, face first in pool of his own blood, brothers on his back. William was an advocate of creativity, but anything of a violent nature and the man began to worry… And he had been worrying about Fili for a good long while. He was polite enough, though his sass left a furrow in the elder’s brow. It seemed that for every statement the child had a retort, and for every retort he had an explanation, and should the argument turn to an unfavourable nature for the boy he would resort to less tactful mannerisms. The spittle of raspberries was a common occurrence, and for that reason Fili sat in the front of the class. When he was not the embodiment of sass, the blond much prefered to day dreaming to learning. And Williams Baggins had learned that sending the boy to the hall was hardly a punishment. After a mild fright of losing his student, the frantic third grade teacher ran down the hall, only to find the eldest Varland boy sitting alongside his brother, attempting to hide between the brunnette and the pale coloured wall, hands coated in a thick paste of flour and water, bits of newspaper stuck between his fingers. 

He was difficult in the highest sense of the word, and for that reason alone he remained important to William. 

“Don’t worry, Charlotte-- Mr. Varland will be here.” A brief chat had told the teacher a great deal about the child’s guardian, but none more so than his voice. Doubting the honesty of his students, William had personally called each parent informing them of the upcoming parent teacher interview following the first grade report of the year. Typically, the phone would ring three or four times, picked up, voices mingling with cooking sounds or television, but one particular phone call was different. The phone rang, and rang, and just when the male thought it to be done ringing it rang some more. Finally, when the teacher thought to throw in the towel (around the fifteenth ring) a gruff voice answered, nearly drowned out by an incessant vibrating noise. After about the third ‘pardon me?’ it stopped and a curt conversation was held, but laced in the heavy and rough voice that echoed from the phone was a tone of care, geniune not feigned concern. It was always shocking to hear the drone of disregard coming from a parent that could have cared less.

Sending a glance back down at the picture, William could not help but contain a small lift of his lips as he read the sloppily written words beneath the sharp edges of the portrait. 

This is me and Kee. Uncle Thorin is the one taking the pikture but he’s smiling at us.

Circling the ‘k’ with a dainty red line before curling his pen beneath the first sentence and rewriting it correctly below. One was to ask if the photo was a legitimate response to the task laid before them, to show in any medium of their choice “A moment they made someone proud”, a brief exercise in creative mediums and self reflection; a chance to boost their own ego, which can be so easily bruised. Fili’s choice of mixing both description and picture, the interesting albeit disturbing content, and lack of regard for reality was a fascinating, and yet troubling mix. 

Your effort is great! Keep it up! Next time, tell me something that happened in your real life. -Mr.Baggins. 

Pressing a metallic smiley face sticker to the side of the note, alongside the grade, a large A with a small minus to it’s side, William slid the paper forward up the desk and resumed tapping his pen, this time in reflection. 

Why had he put all this effort in? Why did he not simply give up on the difficult children, allow them to straggle and bask the gifted allowing them to flourish? Why didn’t he simply care about the numbers on the pages, for in the end the children’s grades reflected more on his teaching than the students. Sighing, and rubbing his brow, William knew it was out of some affinity towards children, for he had always cared for them. He loved to see them learn, their connections as their mind swirled with thoughts of new experiences. He felt a particular fondness, an understanding he held with little people more than adults. The glimmer of their eyes, their smiles and carefree ways… Maybe they held all which he wanted. 

Unfortunately for William, these thoughts came at a rather inappropriate time, for within the brick walls of his mind silenced the roaring groan of an engine, and load slam of the classroom door to his left. Indeed, it took longer than a few seconds for the man to realize he was no longer alone, and that silent thoughts would no longer avail him. Words passed in a fog past the male before they registered, and his head shot to the side. Standing up quickly, the teacher found himself nearly knocked over with the sheer size of the other, and very nearly found his seat again. However, he legs did not falter, though his mind did. 

Taking in the appearance of what he thought to be his elder (going by the work lines on his brow and edging their way alongside his eyes), William was taken aback. He thought this man to be gruff-- but never had he imagined him in the way he appeared. Baggins was all too aware of his own appearance, black pants with black loafers, only to be eased by the plain white dress shirt and a pale green sweater vest, and he was even more aware of how ridiculous he must have looked to the other. Extending his hand, before quickly retracting it, sliding it along the hem of his trousers in the abrupt realization of their stark differences. Surely he wasn’t the handshaking type.

“A-ah. Mr. Varland, I’m glad to see you’ve made it. There’s some refreshments over in the corner of the room and--” The deepening gaze caught William’s words as they thought to leave, tongue veering quickly to the topic at hand. This man hardly seemed in the mood for much-too-sweet doughnuts and stale coffee.

“Uh-- would you care to take a seat?” The younger offered, hand signalling over to the spare office chair he had brought from home for the occasion, ignoring the paint smears from the children that clamoured over it throughout the day. 

This wasn’t a normal interview, that was for certain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

These parent teacher conferences were becoming something close to a regular activity for the tattoo artist. On a monthly, or sometimes bi-weekly basis, he was being called to the school for one reason or another. 

Typically, the conferences were concerning his youngest nephew, Kili. Kili was a child of free-spirit and incredibly creative, a trait that he'd inherited from none other than Thorin himself. With a permanent cloud of glitter surrounding him and his rather beautiful hair pulled back into a ponytail, a braid, or a mixture of the two, the child had fallen victim to the clutches of bullying due to his rather fluid gender line. Thorin wasn't sure if Kili even knew the difference between boys and girls, but he had no qualms about it. He allowed his nephews to make their own decisions about what they liked and helped instill a passion in them to be their own people.

Sadly, some were not as thrilled as Thorin was about Kili's unique nature, causing the first-grader to beg his uncle not to go to school or to be able to stay with Fili all day. And Fili was just as protective of the youngest Varland as Thorin was, getting into fights on the playground, during lunch, or before and after classes when the grades were allowed to mingle.

The boys had already a rather hard life, their father leaving them high and dry and disappearing into the blue with no word, their mother passing shortly after. Being the closest and only family member that was available, Thorin was presented with the guardianship of his two precious nephews when they were much smaller than they were the day of this conference. 

If someone were to say single parenthood was easy, they'd be very, very wrong.

Parent-teacher conferences had become the bane of Thorin's existence for more than a few reasons. The first being that all of the kindergarten and first-grade teachers knew exactly who he was due to his frequent visits to the school. To say that he always left quietly would be a lie, as he was known to raise a bit of hell and question the ability of those teachers whom were in charge of his beloved nephew. 

The second being that it was already extremely difficult for Thorin to be able to make it to the school to merely pick up the boys and bring them back to his tattoo shop with him, much less pick them up, find someone to babysit while he was at the conference, then go back to the school. It was damn near impossible. Typically he would rush to the school and put some of the artists whom worked for him in charge until he returned, pick up Fili and Kili, grab food for them, and then bring them back to the shop. 

They'd sprawl out on the floor and light boxes, finish their homework (in between clients, Thorin would help the boys if they needed it, but his fellow tattooists and piercers had also taken it upon themselves to embrace the two young children and assist), and then they would draw their own tattoo designs or have some drawn on them with a Sharpie by Thorin or the other workers. Kili specifically liked to finger paint and make glitter designs, so there was a stash of craft items in Thorin's office for this reason. The three would stay there until closing time (unless Thorin was booked late, in which was an entirely different problem left for another time) and then head home for a late bath time and bed.

The very day that Thorin had been called in for a parent-teacher meeting with Fili's third grade teacher, he was lucky enough that his dear friend, Daryl, was not scheduled to go into his shift at the bar until late that night. That meant he had someone to pick up his nephews, feed them, and entertain them until Thorin was finished. Daryl was a longtime childhood friend whom was just a few years older than himself, and he'd taken up the nickname "Uncle Daryl" due to the fact that he and Thorin were very much brothers and was just as much of a parent to them as Thorin was.

Even though Thorin had somehow managed to pull off coming to this meeting, it didn't mean that he was pleased about it. Every time he walked into the damned school he felt something close to a rage build within him. He was concerned about his little badgers, yes, but it didn't mean he liked to hear about the "trouble" they were causing. They acted with reason, but it was hard to get anyone to understand that. He felt as if his parenting skills were being questioned and he was being judged. Not that it was a shock, but he'd been through enough of that in his life.

He could only imagine what this meeting was about.

He was running a few minutes behind for the meeting when he finally made it passed the rush-hour traffic and pulled up to the school on one of two of his motorcycles, this one being the more modern 2014 Victory Vegas 8-Ball bike that he had recently purchased to prevent putting so many miles on his other vintage bike. The engine roared and then shut off as he parked it, shoving the keys into the pocket of his leather vest. He straightened his long hair, which was pulled back into a ponytail to prevent too much knotting from his ride over, took a deep breath, and stepped into the school.

By now, Thorin was prepared for anything.

As soon as he stepped into the school, the glances started. Not only because of the reputation that Thorin had earned among the lower-level teachers, but for the simple fact that for some reason, it was appalling to have young children and be covered in tattoos. Keeping his blue eyes focused forward and not even taking the time to worry about those who muttered beneath their breath, he finally found the room in which he was supposed to meet Mr. Baggins.

Entering the room, Thorin shut the door harder than he probably should have (obviously he was quite unhappy about being called here time after time), and he stood in waiting for this teacher to finally notice him. Typical appearance for that of a teacher, obviously he was British from the way he carried himself. Not much to be impressed about. Thorin was too concerned about figuring out /why/ he had been called, straightening the matter out, and then getting back to his boys before Daryl had to leave for work.

He cleared his throat, finally being approached by the teacher who seemed strangely astonished. It was as if he was not what Mr. Baggins had been expecting, which was slightly hilarious considering Thorin sent Fili to school in rocker-esque clothes and spiked hair that had different colors in it every week. Thorin's brows were tense, and he was just about to reach out and shake the hand of his new acquaintance, until it was retracted. He audibly scoffed. Typical. It was tempting to tell Mr. Baggins that he was, in fact, a business man, and was not too uncultured to give a proper handshake.

Indeed, they were different. Thorin wearing a pair of nicely fitted, yet very much tattered jeans (a large hole was in the left knee, and all the way up the thighs were lines of distress and small tears here and there), a vintage t-shirt that he'd obtained from a Def Leppard concert, the sleeves cut off, and a leather vest thrown over top. Intricate sleeves of tattoos instead replaced where clothing typically would be, and there was no doubt more beneath what he did wear. To complete this look, he wore his biker boots and a few leather bracelets were worn upon his wrists. His ears were adorned with various pieces of jewelry, pierced in a variety of places. There was no denying /why/ Mr. Baggins seemed so taken aback.

"I barely had the time to make it here, as you can imagine, I'm very busy," he commented, ignoring the entire statement of refreshments, which he clearly wasn't interested in. "You've no need to try to make me feel comfortable, I just want to discuss whatever we're here for and straighten this out." 

Thorin audibly sighed, then proceeded to the office chair that he was directed toward. He paid no mind to the paint smears, for he was all-too-accustomed to his own furniture being decorated with little fingerprints and trails of sparkles.

"Listen, Mister..." Thorin's gaze veered toward the gold plate on William's desk to try to remember this guy's name, "Mister Baggins, I don't know why you've called me here, I don't know if it's because this is just a routine thing or if it's something else, but the way you made it sound on the phone, there was something you were concerned about with Fili?" His gaze was serious, head tilting slightly to the side as he folded one long leg over the other, arms crossing across a broad chest. 

"Before you start in what I'm sure is gonna be a talk about him being a trouble maker, you don't understand what he's been through," Thorin started to explain. But really, what was the use in explaining it? None of the other teachers before Mr. Baggins had even taken into account the death of Fili's mother or the disappearance of his father when he tried to inform them. "And before you start judging my skills as a parent, I'd like to inform you that I'm doing the best I damn well can."

His voice was gruff, demeanor hardened. When it came to these kids, Thorin was not going to take any shit, not even from a seemingly innocent and charming school teacher. 

"I've been through way too many of these things to sit here and let you start telling me what I can do different as a parent."

Maybe Thorin was getting too ahead of himself, but that was how all these meetings went. 

"So, tell me what he did."

\-----------------------------------------------

“Of course, of course.” The male muttered above a whisper as Thorin mentioned his lack of time. Strain seemed to weight visibly on the brow of eldest Varland; in the grain of his face was written lines of weariness, a silent strain that only seemed to dig into what would have otherwise been a kind expression. His clothing was something of a different matter, tough and jagged, torn and tattered-- but in that came a seamless look that blended well together, fluttering above the heavily inked skin. It seemed  
that any flesh that was visible aside from his face, was adorned with art of some form, whether it be of the needle or jewelry. An odd fashion, though not at all unpleasant. Fair is foul and foul is fair, after all. 

Moving towards his seat, and sliding down softly into the wearing leather, William began to speak, finger clutching to his pen, and hands reaching for various papers. “I truly do appreciate your time to come here, I--”

Within a moment of opening his mouth, he found himself silenced, falling back into the words of larger male, hands finding one another, fingers crossing in silence. It became apparent, very quickly that this man had endured far more with the school system than he would like to admit, and perhaps it had been this very school that had added to the lines that crossed his face. He spoke openly, no care for tact or feeling; blunt. These children, and this family had been struggling, that was very apparent. William had been made known of the situation at hand, a missing father and a deceased mother, care residing solely in a gruff uncle that had given a few verbal punches to various members of the faculty. But perhaps it was not as he had been told, and perhaps it was not of a violent nerve, but rather of a caring one. He fought for these children, for if he didn’t, who would?

Sighing and pressing his weight to his forearms, sliding his chair and body in closer to the desk, William exchanged his hazel eyes from the chipping facade of the desk to the blue eyes that awaited, burning with a silent fury. 

“No, Mister Varland, you don’t know, and that is precisely the reason I asked you to come here today.” The words left with a softness that seemed strange for tone of conversing, a faint smile holding firm to the edges of his mouth. 

“This meeting is about far more than regular familiarity with the guardians of my students, and this has very little to do with Fili’s adolescent tendencies, but they do play their part. And by that being said, it has very little to do with what he /is/ doing, but rather what he is /not/ doing.” Continuing his movements, the smaller male began to gather up a few of the loose papers from his desk-- mostly the tattered and crumpled ones, and a folder at the corner of his desk that required a bit of a reach. One the cover was flipped over, a colourful rendition of FIli’s name was shown, scribbled about in markers and crayons, a skull and video game controller used as the ‘i’s in his name. “And I hardly brought you here to discuss your parenting, for that is not my place. If Fili showed any signs of neglect, this would be handled quite differently, I assure you.”

Holding a small stack of papers before him, the man glanced up, gaze soft with concern, back straightening in his seat. “Now, if you’ll please unclench your hands and relax, we can begin.”

Watching for a moment, William waited for the American to ease a bit, if only a bit before continuing. “Thank you. Now, as you know Fili is a rather special child, and by no means the schooling form of that word. He is creative, ambitious, and clever when he so chooses. He challenges authority, but not by acting out in a cry of desperation, he almost goes about it in a plotting manner, most times for his own amusement. Like a lawyer, you might say. He listens to rules, and never breaks them, merely bends them to fit what he wants.”

Reaching for the stack of paper, the younger male grasped the photo from earlier , placing it in front of Thorin and sliding it forward. Eyes lifting, he gauged the other’s reaction, only continuing once he got a proper view of the piece. “The assignment was to describe, using any medium of their choice, a time when they had made someone proud. Now, though I had never directly said to use a single medium, it was implied-- but going past that Fili wanted not only to describe a fantastical situation, but visualize it as well… He was the only one of my students to do that, dark though they are.”

Shuffling through the papers again, he pulled out some papers, rough and torn, but legible none-the-less. “Now, I pulled these from the trash after class that day. Clearly, it’s Fili’s writing, but I would like you to read what it says..”

Three diary entries, all depicting real life events of when he had made someone proud. The first, a shorter entry of when he had made his mother proud. Though William hardly knew the cause of the mother’s death, he could only assume a sort of ailment, because the entry told of a time when his mother was coughing and Fili ran to grab her medication. The story was a touching one, of his mother embracing him, and the fondness he held for the situation. Truthfully, the teacher was lying if he said he did not tear up a bit, staring past the scribbles and what seemed to be water drops on the paper. “He made his mother proud,”

The second story was of a time when Kili was being harassed on the playground, and Fili had heroically jumped from the swing he was on, running over, and kicking one of the elder boys that taunted his brother. William had met the youngest Varland, and had seen the elder boy pick up his brother, and very nearly carry him to the office when he had fallen. He had also seen the gender-fluid child being taunted, chased, and bullied… Sometimes by even the teachers. Unfortunately, the same laws that protect the good teachers enable the wicked. “And his brother,”

And the final story was of a time FIli had gone to his piggy bank, unloaded all of his coins and counted them, and gave them to his uncle for milk. This entry was the longest, the child going on to comment how his uncle’s smile made him feel, and how the situation made him feel like an adult. “And finally, you.”

“You see, your child had wonderful potential. He is a clever lad, but where he lacks is trust. Family is his greatest value… He hardly has friends, and the most I’ve seen him interact with other children is when he defends his sibling. I know how the schooling works over here in America, and I know that in any other school with any other teacher this little boy would be left behind. I’ve done all I can to keep the two of them apart from the other kids, and the other kids away from them to avoid expulsion, but the option is a serious concern on the administration. Now, Fili had two strikes, a third and he will be expelled and placed in a separate school system, and as you most likely know, the schools that accept expellees aren’t very  
promising.”

Sighing and adjusting his glasses, William looked straight at the elder male, smile now fading. “Now, I feel as if he binned these papers because he didn’t trust me enough to share them with me. I have worked with children for near ten years, Mister Varland, and never have I encountered a child with this much resistance to outward  
authority.”

“I want to help Fili, but in order to do that I need help from someone he trusts and cares for. I need to be able to connect with him, allow him to share with me so he can grow… I am running out of ideas, and even now with school work he is falling behind by hiding his potential. Please, help me help him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A harsh gaze continued to burn through William, fists clenched, posture tense and straightened, awaiting the very moment that he was informed of /why/ exactly he had been called to the school. But when the man before him began to speak about what Fili was /not/ doing, an audible groan fell from his lips. He scoffed. How many times had Thorin heard that before? If this was going to be about how Fili was falling behind his classmates or was not "applying himself" as he should have been, Thorin was going to scream. 

His nephew, his son, was not stupid by any means. Fili was bright, creative, (both Fili and Kili had inherited this from the Varland side of the family, as Dis, their mother, had been very creative during her lifetime, as well. Thorin was very adamant about pushing them to embrace their creativity and letting them be their own people) and had problem-solving skills outside of his age range. That much was evident in how well Fili played video games, particularly solving puzzles in games like Resident Evil and Tomb Raider when even Thorin himself could not figure them out. 

"My apologies for making assumptions," he replied, "But as you can probably tell, I've been through quite a few rounds with this school, most of them questioning my parenting." Pursing his lips, Thorin reluctantly unclenched his hands that were resting on his knee, and instead folded his arms over his chest and cocked his head to the side as he watched William shuffle through mounds of papers and finally pull out Fili's school folder. One could tell it belonged to his eldest due to the skull and crossbones that were drawn across the cover.

The moment the word "special" was dropped, Thorin had the undying urge to stand up and flip the table over, but that urge was soon soothed by the statements that followed. William was actually /praising/ Fili's creativity and personality. Already, this meeting was taking a different turn than his previous ones. Thorin stayed silent, reaching forth to grab the paper that had been slid toward him. The drawing and the words that went along with it made his heart melt. Obviously he was quite proud of this violent depiction. Just another day in the Varland household.

"Well, that one's definitely going on the fridge," he mused, managing to pull a soft smile as he reached in his pocket and pulled out his touch-screen cell phone, snapping a quick picture of it to post on Instagram later. He realized it probably wasn't the most professional thing to do, but this meeting was already going in a strange direction and he hadn't posted anything all day. His followers surely were waiting for something adorable (Thorin proudly ran an Instagram account documenting his tattoo artistry and chaotic life as a single dad). 

Placing the paper back on the desk, Thorin eyed the crumpled pages that took the drawing's place. He squinted, now taking hold of the tattered diary entries and reading through his nephew's sloppy (yet adorable) hand writing. In the midst of the first story, he had to clear his throat to maintain his composure. It was a reminder of the recent death of his sister, someone whom he'd held very dear to him, especially after all that they had lost before that. He and his nephews were the last immediate family members left standing.

There was a range of emotions that washed over him in the coming two stories. The second described Fili's heroic nature of saving his younger brother, something that Thorin had already been made aware of, for he had been called about potential punishment for his two nephews /instead/ of the bullies that had provoked the entire thing. His brows were soft, lips curled into a sad smile, eyes glistening with undeniable endearment. Thorin wasn't afraid to show the soft spot he had for those kids. They were his everything. Though, he was a bit embarrassed that Mister Baggins now knew of his fluctuating income...

William began to speak again and Thorin glanced up from the papers that he held protectively in his grasp. He uncrossed his legs, instead leaning forth now in a more relaxed position, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together whence he laid down the diary entries to the desk. He placed his chin on his knuckles and gazed over them at the teacher. 

"You say that he needs to trust others to show his true potential," Thorin responded, "But have you any idea what this child has been through?" As endearing as it was to have William care about what happened to Fili, part of him had put up a guard, as well. He had to defend himself, as he was doing everything he could to try to compensate and make Fili understand what would happen if he got another strike. 

"He does not trust others because everyone he has ever loved and thought he could count on has disappeared, Mister Baggins." Thorin hadn't intended to embark on this tale, but it was necessary to prove his point. "All of our family is gone," he said, "His grandparents passed before he was even conceived, his uncle never got the chance to see him...father left because he couldn't be a man and support his family through hard times...mother lost to illness." He remained poised, as if this was a speech he'd poured out a thousand times over. Thorin had become numb to the loss aside from the nightmares that haunted him.

"It's damn near impossible to get him to open up to anyone but me, his brother, and our family friend, Daryl. Mister Baggins, I have tried /everything/ with him," he spoke, his tone almost becoming exasperated. Thorin reached up to brush a stray hair back that had fallen out of his ponytail and sighed. "But these boys are my everything, and I will not see them fail." 

Thorin was slowly giving in and softening, clearly becoming more and more desperate to give his nephews the life they truly deserved. "I can't have them go through more pain and confusion, so just...tell me what I need to do. Please. If you have another idea, something I haven't thought of, just go on. I can drop a good word for you, but I can only do so much."

The tattoo artist sat in silence for a moment, inked knuckles still clasped together, bearded chin resting upon them. He did not break his gaze from William's face, almost as if he was attempting to read his true intentions or debating on what to say next. Something deep within Thorin told him that he needed to give this poor British bastard a break and thank him for what he'd done so far. So, that's exactly what he did.

"Listen, thank you for having so much patience with him," Thorin finally managed to utter, "No others have taken interest in him before. He seems to have been brushed to the side by all of his teachers, excluding you. They see something different and are afraid to even put in an effort. So, even though I may seem ungrateful, I really appreciate it. I've just been rubbed the wrong way so many damn times." 

He couldn't help but laugh softly, sitting up straight now as he pulled his ponytail over his shoulder and fiddled with the ends out of some sort of nervous habit (truly he felt like he needed a cigarette now, all this school stuff stressed him out). Twisting dark locks about his finger, Thorin pondered on what would be the best route to take.

"--Any ideas? I'm drawing blank. Hopin' you got something, 'cause I can't sit here all night and think about it. Gotta get my badgers from my friend before he goes into work. Schedule's crazy..."

Now, Thorin was starting to relax a bit around William. He was making casual conversation, connecting with the mere fact that Fili could not fail after all they'd been through. He even dropped the little nickname "badgers" that he called his boys. Maybe William wasn't so bad after all.

\-----------------------------------------------

“Take it, I’m sure he’d love to hear your praise-- he does work very hard, in more ways than just school.” The words left with a hint of sentiment, a dangerous thing for any teacher. Growing to care for a child while teaching was a rather tricky thing, you enter teaching for your love of children and learning, but in order to save yourself you harden, harden your heart to the outward affection of the young souls around you. As fall fades, turning to winter’s chill, and spring flowers… Soon enough  
summer comes, and they’re gone. William understood why some teachers became less and less interested with the children around them, focusing on the numbers and denying the sentience of their students. They were minds, made to be molded or left behind. 

Any resistance, and they were tossed aside.

 

As Thorin continued on his speech, the man pressed his hands in front of his body, fingers twisting and mind swirling. He had known the pain of losing a parent; eleven, a lad learning to be wild, fighting and denying the fact that cells could turn on their host; perpetually lying to himself for how could that which had once nurtured him as a child be sucking the life of his mother? Everyday since he had missed her, ghosts haunting him in a way that seemed unreal. Homeland wrought with memories he sought a new beginning, an adventure of sorts. His professor had shown him the job, pressured him to go. Old professor Gandalf, the young teacher wondered how his mentor was. 

“Death and loss is never easy, even on adults… I can understand why he would separate himself from people, distance and prevention are the greatest protectors.” God only knew how William learned that. 

When the other male remarked on the boys being his everything, the teacher could see just the faintest glimmer of emotion lingering in his eyes, hooking onto lashes before seeping back in silent floods. If words alone did not prove his sentiment, his entire demeanor did. He changed as the tone of the conversation changed from accusatory to sympathetic and concerned. His legs which had been crossed, uncrossed, his eyes softened, and the elder even graced a smile, a chuckle. 

“I have no doubts to that, Mister. Varland. I can see you care deeply for your children, as all parents should. You hold more gumption than many of the maternal guardians I have had the misfortune of interacting with. And quite frankly, failure at this point is no longer an option, certainly not with children as bright as Fili- or Kili for that matter.”

There was a pause in the conversation, and the man felt a tinge of fear. Had he possibly said something to offend the man? Was the conversation sliding backwards as quickly as it had progressed? As the elder examined his face, William held the gaze with a confidence, though the rest of him wanted to retreat. Thankfully, his patience seemed to pay out, and the tense air was eased with thanks. A touching sentiment. Very few times had he ever received thanks for teaching, spending extra time with a student, expanding his own mind to try and enhance theirs. 

The appreciation warmed the teacher’s heart, a smile holding firm to his lips. “You’re most welcome; ability of any kind, if wasted is a shame. I refuse to see Fili falter.”

As Thorin leaned back into the chair, WIlliam leaned forward into the desk, mind racking for a solution of how to persuade the child into trusting him. There were small things he had arranged, one such accommodation being a joint reading program between the third and first grade classes, where students were paired and the eldest child read to the younger one. 

Naturally the brothers were paired. 

Pausing, brow furrowing and smile sweeping up to the side, the teacher found himself questioning the pet name for the boys. Chuckling light, he played the word over in his mind, swirling it about in a sea of thoughts.

“I have a few ideas, though I must admit they are fairly hair-brained…” The man muttered, leaning back into his chair, picking up the pen and resuming their quizzical dance. “Perhaps I need to expand my teaching methods to areas that may influence him in a greater way. Is there any hobbies he enjoys? Anything that would get him to open up to someone that isn’t family? Does he enjoy any films? Any passion he could relate well to his real life?”

A rap could he heard at the door, curt and rapid as if fearful and judgemental all at once. For the first time since he had presented Thorin with the letters Williams eyes were torn away from the long haired man and his startling eyes. The door opened a tad, creaking as a round face emerged from the crack. A second grade teacher entered, eyeing Thorin with a mixture of suspicion and condemnation that William could only assume they were  
acquainted. More than likely Fili’s old teacher. 

“Mister Baggins, there is a line growing out here--”

“We’ll only be a few more moments, thank you.”

Exiting swiftly, muttering words beneath her breath, the woman closed the door with a rather loud slam, and the male adjusted himself in his seat with a sigh of exhaustion. Truly, it had been a rather rough week, tossing between parent teacher interviews, marking, lesson planning, and of course, teaching. Then, there was always his side project, though it was more of a fulltime job than a project; curriculum examination. In the end, that was why he had been hired, not as a teacher-- though in order to fully experience the lessons teaching was expected. Receiving praise in the UK for his unique take on schooling he was hired as an outside advisor, watching, learning, expanding and ultimately transforming the Californian school system.

That was the plan at least. 

“It would appear as if constraints approach from either side,” William muttered sourly, sucking in his breath and uncapping his pen, reaching for sticky note and hastily scribbling his name and phone number. 

William Baggins, (714) 935- 7584

The words were written simply, though the swoop of his name curved with expert finesse in what seemed like an effortless attempt. 

“Mull it over, think and hopefully we will decide on something. I’ll try my best to keep he and Kili indoors during breaks, even if it means supervising the gymnasium.” Pushing the note forward with a smile the male stood, coming around to the side of the desk, this time extending his hand fully. 

“Just talk to him,” William mentioned as a final note on the meeting. “Thank you again for coming-- I apologize for brevity of it all.”

Perhaps Thorin Varland wasn’t as gruff as he appeared; beneath all that leathery exterior truly rested a heart unlike the teacher had yet seen.

In all this, it was possible William was here to learn, not to teach.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When William began to ask about Fili's hobbies, Thorin couldn't help but laugh softly. He focused his gaze onto the tiled floor beneath his biker boots, running a few of the hobbies that he knew were Fili's favorite through his mind. He wasn't so sure if Mister Baggins would approve of them, but since they were being rather blunt with one another, Thorin saw no reason to hold back.

"As you can tell by his drawing, he loves to pretend he's playing with swords, guns, whatever weapon he's feeling at the time...loves video games, they all vary from fighting games to problem solving games...uh, he likes music. He grew up on 80s rock with me, mostly. Runs in the family. I wish I could give you hobbies that were easier to connect to, Mister Baggins, but he's...different. Kili's easier to work with, but he's not your student...he's the artsy one, hands-on...Fili, though, he just loves his games."

Truly, both of the boys were characters of their own, and Thorin would not have asked for any better. He allowed them to be their own people and develop their own interests and tastes, then proceeded to praise them about it. While some may have looked at his parenting and the boys' tastes as "wrong", Thorin was very passionate in letting his badgers mold their own lives. There was no sense in forcing gender roles or typical "boy" interests on them. Too many people frowned upon what was different and new.

As Thorin was about to open his mouth and try to describe the best way to form a connection with Fili (which really was just letting him do his own thing and letting him approach first unless he trusted you), a knock came at the door and this rather important meeting was interrupted. It was probably a good thing that they were interrupted before Thorin lost track of time and made his dear friend run late for his shift at the bar. 

He straightened himself, glancing over at the teacher who entered from the crack in the door. As soon as the tattoo artist realized who it was (Fili's former teacher, she taught second grade), Thorin gave her a nod before shifting his gaze away entirely, an exasperated sigh falling from his lips at the mere sound of her voice. He winced at the sound of the door slamming, returning his focus back onto the rather generous male who contrasted that foul woman greatly.

"What a bitch," he mused, speaking in a rather casual tone, "Had to deal with her last year, and I am so damn happy you aren't like her." 

Some would have called it unprofessional for him to express those thoughts about William's co-workers so freely, but he believed honesty was the best policy. He wasn't going to change himself to impress anyone.

Gathering up the drawing and the diary entries that he'd been given, Thorin shoved them safely in the inside pocket of his leather vest and stood from his seat, stretching bulked, inked arms over his head. He'd grown stiff due to that rather uncomfortable chair, which made him realize he was very happy he was no longer in school anymore. 

With a faint smile, he took the sticky-note from William, then placed it alongside the diary entries in his vest, intently listening to the words that fell from the teacher's lips. He reached out, firmly gripping the smaller male's hand for a proper handshake, eyes not once leaving the darkened irises that held a certain gentleness to them. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all.

"I'll give you a call if I figure out anything great, but I'm not promising anything. I'll try to talk to him, though. You have my number if you need anything." He paused, finally letting go of William's hand. "Thank you, truly. It was a pleasure to meet you."

Thorin pulled back, a soft laugh falling from his lips. "Guess I better get going before /she/ comes back in here and rips your head off." His smile turned into something short of a grin, shoving one hand in the back of his well-fitted jeans to pull out a cigarette and place it to his lips (it would be lit as soon as he stepped outside, there was no way he was waiting after this whole stressful situation) as he turned to exit the classroom and return to his beloved bike. 

The rest of the afternoon was a blur, from Thorin hurrying back home to relieve Daryl of his badger-keeping duties and trying to sort out another baby-sitter for the rest of the night (which ended up being Daryl's older brother, Brian, whom was a college professor and the only other resort that Thorin had to lean on), to rushing back to his tattoo shop, cleaning up his station, straightening out an issue with an order for ink that he'd placed, being put on hold for an hour due to said issue, and finally getting a customer to tattoo.

Normally, Thorin would have taken the badgers with him to work and let them paint, draw, and do their homework, but Friday nights usually extended well-past their bedtime and well into the late night. They were also far too busy for children to be bustling around the shop, so Brian had become a go-to when both Thorin and Daryl's jobs called for late night weekend shifts. 

It was 10:30, just an hour and a half past their usual weekday closing time (unless someone specially booked a session after or before hours), and Thorin had just finished a session on a woman's thigh piece that had been inspired by Edgar Allen Poe poetry. It was one that would continue to be worked on in separate sessions due to the sheer size of it, and though he truly enjoyed working on it, the artist was happy to sit back and relax after such a draining day. 

Another artist, a piercer, and Thorin sat in the shop, the other artist working on a client of his own as Thorin and the piercing artist sat back in their rather large, comfortable chairs, and chatted about the upcoming Motley Crue tour. 

"I'll go if I can find a babysitter for the boys, 'cause Daryl's probably gonna wanna go, too, and I'm not sure if Brian's gonna be up for keeping them so late on a week night..."

The sound of the shop door opening and the chime that followed caused Thorin to sit up in his chair, but he didn't bother to peer toward the entrance to see if this newcomer was a client or a friend looking to hang out, for his piercing artist had already greeted them with a friendly, "Something we can do for ya?"

\-----------------------------------------------

With the passing of time, William had found himself growing weary; work had grown far more demanding than he had previously imagined it to be. Every morning he arrived early, eyes glued to endless cycles of PDF documents, towering papers of the labors of his students, and textbooks for basic core content. And through the morning he would mark, type, and learn himself; immersed in a world of statistics, curriculum, only finding a passing ease when reading the work of the little ones he worked so hard to teach. It had taken time, but it seemed that finally his effort had begun to show, each child’s grades rising from the previous year, slowly, but rising all the same; a rather momentous achievement for not only William, but his students as well. Somewhere amidst the endless evenings spent in his classroom, surrounded by brightness, and colours, letters, and numbers and the art of little minds, William travelled the tiring road back to his bland apartment, white-walled and lifeless. Unopened boxes lined the walls like tombstones, casting haunting shadows on the walls as the light above the stove was turned on, casting a dim yellow light. Stomach growling, the male ignored his hunger and lined his work on the kitchen table before flopping on his mattress. The springs creaked and groaned as the man unclothed himself to his underwear before finding a barely-there warmth beneath the covers. The roof gazed back at unblinking eyes as self-pity took hold for the night.

 

Perhaps not only his students, but he as well needed a reward.

The next morning, William set out to work after an unusually long shower, lingering in the pour of the water, allowing the calming heat to set into his bones, easing him into life. The buzz of morning tea igniting within him, the teacher spurred from the house stopping by a local pizza shop and ordering five large pizzas, pop, and three special desserts for the upcoming noon hour. Arriving at school a tad later than normal. the teacher leaned back in his chair, simply enjoying the morning as it came, and when the children began to arrive he remained silent, not hinting at the fact he had something special planned for them. Five minutes before noon, William excused himself from the classroom, paying for the pizzas and asking the receptionist to get one of the student aids to bring the pizzas down to class 329 at exactly noon. Returning to nothing short of chaos the male began to reign back in the class a smile on his face. 

“Settle down, settle down, please!” He called, the room falling silently shortly afterwards as his raised hand lowered through the air. “Thank you. As you know, we’ve all been working very hard these past few months. I’ve seen you all grow, expand and learn in new ways, and each and everyone of you has made my teaching here a wonderful experience.” Eyes wandering through the sea of faces, William caught a glimpse of Fili, smiling a tad brighter before continuing. “And so, I thought that a little celebration was in order. Now, how many people here like pizza?”

A rather silly question he soon learned, as almost every single hand raising within an instant, the rest following shortly after. “That’s what I thought.” Mumbling filled the room, as the children slowly began to pick up on the situation. Walking over to the door, William walked down the remainder of the hall, taking the pizzas from the aid just as the bell rang. Returning a few seconds later he was met with near concert level excitement. Setting the boxes, and bags down the teacher flashed a smile. “This is my thank you for all your hard work and dedication.” Picking up the three smaller boxes each containing a warm brownie, William walked through the classroom. “Three students though have grown far more than others, their grades sky rocketing from the previous years. These students are role models, and each of you should respect their dedication and determination.” Walking over the man set one box on a little girl’s desk, “Jacqualine,” then a boy, “Joshua,” and then at last the colourful storm himself. “And FIli.”

After that the children lined up, receiving their pizza and soda before settling down in their seats chatting amongst themselves, until finally, someone asked to turn on the radio. William agreed, but on a single condition, that the music would be chosen by someone that could answer a trivia question. 

“The Norse god of thunder and storms, Thor, wielded what as a weapon?” The question pertained to their earlier lesson, a brief introduction to mythology and ancient societies. A wrist adorned with leather bracelets lifted with untold enthusiasm, and before the teacher had a chance to call out a name the answer was shouted back. A hammer, it called, a ‘awesome’ hammer. Chuckling, William couldn’t help but ask how the child knew that-- the simplest answer called back: Tomb Raider Underworld. Needlessly said, rock music soon followed, and for a moment, Fili showed the world his true colours. 

~~~

Perhaps celebration had lost it’s ring by the time William had his sixth Manhattan; crimson liquid burning in a trail down his throat, drunkenness encapsulating his thoughts. The bar was a slightly upper scale business bar, all around him were men wearing suits, drinking scotch. Aside from casual chatting and brief ringing of cell phones the establishment was silent. There alone the teacher sat, quietly celebrating his and his students’ success, and then evaluating his choices, and then reevaluating them, and by the fifth drink he had decided that his choices were all useless and that he would have been much better off staying in his small flat with his warm hearth and comfy chair. By the sixth drink on an empty stomach he was cut off, and his keys confiscated.. Paying the bar with a begrudging sigh, William stumbled out, met by the lazy warmth of the dying Californian autumn. It was late going by the streetlamps, thought it seemed time had passed much slower for the male, for it had only been two hours since he left his classroom, abandoning his work for the evening in pursuit of relaxation… Though it was quite possible he had gone past that point. 

A swirl of drunken thoughts passed William’s mind, and as he continued on his way swaying down the streets, clinging to the side of buildings until the scenery around him seemed foreign and strange. The cars around him were not his own, and strange music flooded from unfamiliar businesses. Neon burned around him, casting bright colours onto his face; the bustle of the streets echoing about him. The small creature found a spot next to a cigarette pit, curling his arms around him as he pressed back into the rusting bench. The distinctive strum of a guitar could be heard, clear and steady; intrancing.  
“The past is gone, it went by like dusk to dawn; isn’t that the way? Everybody’s got their dues in life to pay.”

The almost melancholy tone of the song caught William’s ears as he tuned into the voice, crying along to the tune of the guitar. The metallic strum catching up in beat with the drums, and voice growing in desperation. And despite whatever the words called, the voice pleaded the opposite. 

“Dream on, dream on, dream on, dream until your dreams come true.”

Unnaturally shimmering irises crawled over the outwards facade of the store fronts, searching beneath  
the chipping paint or leaf ridden street corners for a sign of hospitality. A metallic chirp caught William’s attention as his head swiveled back lazily behind him. A wide door was slowly closing as a woman exited, wincing slightly as she walked, carrying along the scent of ink and leather. The store she left however was basked in a glow of bright lights. It seemed as plain as any shop on the street, but this store held an edge of care; no chipping paint, windows clean and darkened, walk cleared of leaves. A bright, inviting sign shone down signalling to all the permanence of life and the arts: Tattoos.

Fleeting memories came back, lingering in the hazy realm of taboo and beauty. William had always seen tattoos, in fact it had seemed as if London in the years after punk rock was inked itself. But still there was a forbidden nature, if only from his upbringing. The thought had always lingered in his mind, but no true thought was put onto the subject. Afterall, it was permanent. But that never stifled his admiration for the art-- he only preferred it from a distance. As with many things, however, drink can change opinions, and in that moment ink seemed very enticing.

And so, William Baggins did want any sane drunk man would do, he walked into the shop, barely noticing the metallic chirp that signaled his arrival. Within an instant a heavily tattooed, and even more pierced man approached him questioning why he was there. 

“Mmm, yes th-there is, my dear fellow.” William mumbling, words slurring together with a thickening accent. Pressing forward, laying his forearms on the desk and leaning forward, only to stumble and catch himself in a brief attempt at grace. 

“I ‘ave come to this parlour for a tattoo of…” The man paused for a moment, mumbling over a few words before deciding on one with a sudden burst of life. “Of /impeccable/ quality. Yes, impeccable.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Author's Note:**

> Roleplay Fic created by politethief.tumblr.com and underthemistymountian.tumblr.com.


End file.
